


The Idiot's Guide of How NOT to be a Spirit

by starbunny



Series: The Idiot's Guide to Necromancy [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Courtship, Crack, Cute, Family Friendly, Fluff, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Magical Realism, Meet-Cute, Modern Bucky Barnes, Necromancy, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Not Really Character Death, POV Outsider, Pining, SHIELD Agent Bucky Barnes, Spirits, Urban Fantasy, can be a standalone, not horror at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-02-29 20:50:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18785965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starbunny/pseuds/starbunny
Summary: It was supposed to be simple. Die and fade into the afterlife.But as life goes - or as death goes - things never go according to plan, and Phil Coulson ends up stranded on earth as a spirit, confused and alone, before coming face to face with his worst nightmare ever: a powerful necromancer who ends up being nothing he had ever expected. Ever.





	1. This is Not How The Story Goes

**Author's Note:**

> Follow-up/Sequel to the first fic. Reading the first fic is not exactly necessary, but it does give some context to what goes on in this second fic.

Spirits have never been classified as anything dangerous in SHIELD’s books. Sure, some of them were more than capable of affecting the real world, able to interact with objects, sometimes even possessing others, theoretically being able to cause real harm and be a threat, but the majority of spirits were harmless entities, roaming the earth invisible to everyone else - save people like necromancers of course, people like _Steve_.

But SHIELD was SHIELD for a reason, and even the slightest possibility of a threat demanded whole files and databanks of contingency plans. Plans and counterplans and counter- _counterplans_. SHIELD was to be prepared for anything. That was what the organisation was built upon, and Phil Coulson of all people would know that, more than anyone else (even if he himself was a dead spirit and was technically one of those potential threats himself).

So he couldn’t say he was surprised in the slightest when SHIELD started taking note of Steve’s powers (once they finally got over the fact that he wasn’t an enemy), already thinking of how they could use him, turn him into an asset, to help protect the world against supernatural threats.  

They tried to train him to become a field agent like Bucky or Natasha, but that plan quickly fell through when they realised Steve was just absolutely, a hundred percent, not suited for that life at all.

It wasn’t even the fact that trying to train Steve in any form of combat was like waiting for a fish to magically sprout wings and fly into the sunset. No, it was not. It was the fact that Steve – stupid dumb Steve – had the most idiotic habit of _talking_ and trying to make _friends_ with his enemies rather than do something more rational, like beating them up and stopping them from causing harm (Phil had seen Bucky and Natasha both facepalm countless times from that).

It was sort of endearing to watch at first, but when it evolved into straight up stupidity like-

“No, Steve, you cannot befriend a hydra spirit,” Bucky sighed tirelessly as he sharpened his knives, and Phil similarly nodded by the side (even if Bucky couldn’t see him).

“But-”

“There are no ‘but’s, Steve. It’s a fucking hydra. Remember when I turned up at your mansion two years ago near dead? Take a wild fucking guess at which creature did that.”

Steve gave the most troubled, sad pout that would make cold marble statues come to life and start weeping. Bucky cleverly avoided his gaze, focusing on his knives.

It was rare that the two ever got assigned to the same mission. Steve hated having to see Bucky jump into danger and fight (even if it was his job). Bucky similarly hated having to see Steve in danger, knowing fully well Steve didn’t have the skills to protect himself (even if there were spirits like Phil to protect him). And SHIELD certainly wasn’t cruel enough to force both of them in a situation where they might have to watch the other die. But it couldn’t be helped this time, not especially when alerts came in of a spirit hydra manifestation down in Moscow. The worst combination ever.

Nobody in SHIELD except Steve had the ability to effectively deal with spirits (apart from straight up void magic bombs to eradicate the entire area and the spirit), and Bucky was the top hydra killer around, so naturally, both were called for the mission, picked up from their house at three am in the morning.

 _“He’s right, you know,_  Phil said, and Steve’s eyes flickered up to him, blinking. _“Hydras can’t be reasoned with. They’re monsters.”_

“It wasn’t its choice to be tied to the earth after it died,” Steve argued.

Bucky didn’t even look up from his knives, way too used to Steve talking to thin air – well what he perceived to be thin air at least.

_“Maybe not, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s going to hurt people if we leave it alone.”_

“I’m not saying we have to leave it alone. I’m just saying that maybe if we tried to understand why it’s stuck here-”

“-To eat more people you mean?” Bucky interrupted, slotting his knives back and pulling out his gun to inspect it. “Seriously, Steve. Why is this any different from killing a _living_ hydra?”

“Because it’s not its choice. Nothing dies expecting to be tethered back to the world, alone and cold and unable to do anything or go anywhere! It’s a victim.” Steve pouted again.

Bucky’s eyes finally lifted from his gun, flickering up to the empty space where Phil was standing – or _existing_ , and then to Steve.

“I get it. I really do,” Bucky said, more softly this time. “I won’t make it suffer unnecessarily.”

“…Promise?”

“I promise,” Bucky reassured, then looked to the empty space again. “Take care of Steve please, Phil. Don’t let him do anything stupid, like running up to hug the hydra or someth-”

“Hey!” Steve protested. 

Phil made a light sewn onto Bucky’s combat gloves blink green, and Bucky nodded at that.

“Thanks.”

\----------

Steve didn’t run up to hug the hydra, even though Phil was at least twenty percent certain the thought was running through that dumb idiot’s brain.

With the help of Steve’s magic, imbued into Bucky’s armour and weapons to make them effective against spirits, Bucky easily went head to head with the enormous hydra, slicing off heads and dodging bite attacks with the ease of a skilled ballet dancer, twirling in the air and launching a relentless onslaught of magic bombs on the creature.

Everything seemed to be going as planned, and when the hydra was down to its final two remaining heads, things looked like they were going to wrap up any moment now, until-

One of the heads unexpectedly swerved towards Steve, lunging forward with an ear piercing screech (that only Steve and Phil would have heard)

“STEVE!” Bucky screamed.

Steve was frozen to the ground. He had no weapons, nothing Phil could use to protect him against a god damn hydra except-

The rush of pure _sensation_ was like stepping straight into fiery lava, but Phil grit his teeth through it all, vision bursting to life with an array of bright colours as his – or _Steve’s_ \- eyes snapped open.

Phil forced Steve’s body to lunge to the side, easily rolling back on his feet and darting aside when the head came diving back down.

Possession wasn’t something Phil enjoyed doing at all. It _hurt_ , first and foremost, not just for him, but for whoever he was possessing. And second, it was just plain wrong. Wrong that he was even possessing somebody (even if Steve had given him explicit permission to do so in an emergency), and wrong in the sense that he wasn’t supposed to _be_ there. This wasn’t his body, it would never be, and that feeling of sheer wrongness, no matter how undeniably good it was to feel the cool touch of air to the skin once again, or the sensation of a beating heart in his chest – it still felt distinctly _wrong_. Nauseatingly wrong.

But he didn’t have a choice.

“Bucky, gun!”

Steve – or _Phil_ really – must have sounded very different than normal, and Bucky’s face scrunched up in sheer confusion, before understanding dawned on him.

He unhooked a gun and tossed it over, before promptly dodging an attack by the second hydra head.

Phil caught the gun easily mid-air and unloaded the whole clip dead centre into the hydra’s skull, taking it down with a long shrill cry.

Bucky took the final head down just seconds later, and Phil trotted over to him, handing the gun back.

“You’re SHIELD-trained,” Bucky said, eyebrows furrowed as he took the gun back, twirling it over. Still a gun with SHIELD patented magic tech, not something any untrained personnel would have been able to operate with the amount of ease as Phil demonstrated earlier.

Phil looked up at him – so much more vibrant and colourful in Steve’s living vision than in Phil’s spirit vision, but before he could even say anything, another voice cut through the silence.

Someone Phil hadn’t wanted to see, or hear, or meet.

Ever again.

No.

“…Phil?”

Nick Fury was pale as ash standing at the edge of the lake, freshly disembarked off a SHIELD helicopter, staring at Steve – or Phil – with a mixture of shock and pure horror. He still looked exactly the same as he did years ago. Still the very same.

Phil’s heart felt like it got plunged into ice.

“Nick,” he croaked out, nearly inaudible, and that was all he could take.  

All sensation vanished with a snap as he released Steve’s body back to the man, and Steve immediately stumbled forward, clearly very disoriented. 

“Steve!” Bucky immediately caught him, lowering him down to the ground. Steve blinked a few times up at him, then turned his head to the side to look at Phil.

“Thanks,” Steve mouthed to him, then promptly fell unconscious. 

\----------

Steve woke up thrice on the flight back, hurling his guts out and fainting again right after each time.

This was exactly why Phil absolutely _hated_ doing this to Steve.

\----------

Steve woke up for real in the SHIELD infirmary hours later in the evening, eyes blinking a few times before focusing.

 _“You okay?”_ Phil asked from the side.

Steve cracked a small smile and nodded.

“Thanks for saving me.”

_“Still-”_

“Don’t apologise, please. I told you multiple times it’s fine.”

Steve started to get up, wincing a little, but before Phil could even push a glass of water over, or force Steve to eat something, the door slammed open with a bang.

None other than Nick stormed right in, unbridled fury simmering right under his skin. Still the same as he’d always been.

He raised a gun at Steve’s head, finger locked on the trigger.

“Give me one fucking good reason why I shouldn’t shoot you right now.”

It took Phil a mere split second to wrench the gun out of Nick’s hand and shatter it to pieces, and Nick looked even more furious, glaring down at Steve.

“What did you do to him.”

Steve looked spectacularly calm for somebody who just had a gun pointed to his head, and Phil was once again reminded that he was no child, much less a coward. The young man may not possess the skills of a warrior, but he definitely had the heart of one.

“I didn’t do anything to h-”

“Don’t-” Nick hissed. “Fucking. Lie. To. Me. What did you do? You knew about him, didn’t you?!”

Steve didn’t respond for a long second, eyes flickering to Phil. Blinking wide and bright, in the purest shade of blue.

Phil opened his mouth, then closed it. Then tried again, and stopped, shaking his head once without looking up.  

And Steve – bless that young sweet man – he understood what Phil meant. He always did.

“I knew,” Steve said, as calmly as he could.

A myriad of expressions flickered across Nick’s face. Shock. Grief. Disgust. Then back to rage.

“I’ll fucking _kill_ you for-” Nick started closing in, arms raised, and Phil was there in a flash, ready to protect Steve from whatever Nick would-

“He didn’t want to tell you!” Steve blurted out.

And Nick stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a long silence.

“…What did you say?”

\----------

Phil remembered the day he died as clear as day.

It wasn’t a day he liked to remember.

Not at all.

And it all started like this.

\----------

It had been any other ordinary day, reporting at SHIELD headquarters nearly thirty years ago.

“We should try that new coffee place down the street someday,” Phil had said casually. 

“You mean the place where we literally _murdered_ a rogue vampire just two days ago,” Nick responded flatly from his right.

“Yeah.” Phil nodded. “They have caramel macchiatos.”

“Every other café has caramel macchiatos. So pray tell me _Phil_ , why the fuck do we have to go to that particular coffee shop?”

“Because it’s _my_ turn to choose, and I say we’re going there,” Phil said, staring up at Nick with the straightest face ever possibly made in the history of ever. 

“Do you seriously not care that it was a murder site at all?”

“Adds to the atmosphere.”

“There was blood all over the counters. And the coffee machine. _Both_ coffee machines.”

“What, I hear vampire blood is good for the skin,” Phil said very seriously.

Nick stared at him, and Phil could almost literally see the thoughts running through his head.

Is he serious? Did he get concussed? God, maybe he’s finally gone mad and I’ll have to get him to retire to some faraway farm land with fucking horses all over and find a new partner.

It took a solid three seconds before that grin exploded onto Phil’s face, and Nick groaned out loud and rolled his eyes.

“Fuck off, Phil.”

“Sir, yes sir.”

\----------

Then it all went to fucking shit.

Because _Zola_ happened, and he was just about ready to launch his new conquest in taking over the world, with his freshly minted army of the revived dead.

Necromancy was one of the rarest powers to manifest in a mage, having two or three manifesting per century in the whole world, but whenever they _did_ , it nearly always resulted in a worldwide catastrophe. Nothing good, that is.

\----------

Nick and Phil were at the forefront of the whole battle, fighting through day and night, bodies bruised and battered all over, and they were still no closer to ending the war.

Until SHIELD ordered them to be part of a secret undercover operation, because if they couldn’t beat Zola head on, their only other option would be to stab him right in the back.

“We won’t see each other for a bit,” Nick had said the night before the entire op, tone uncharacteristically hard.

“Yeah,” Phil said.

“We’ll see each other again though,” Nick reassured, and Phil forced a smile at him.

Nick may have always been the more cynical of the two, but somehow, when it truly counted, even when the whole world was in shambles, the man could always pull some shred of hope out from somewhere, out from nothing. It was one of the things Phil could never do, and would always admire him for.

“Yeah, we will,” Phil said softly.

“We’ll get that stupid caramel macchiato you wanted when that day comes.”

“At the vampire café?” Phil snorted.

“Yes, your ridiculous vampire café.” Nick rolled his eyes. “It’s your turn to choose after all.”

And that had been it.

Off they went undercover, participating in things they would rather forget, tried to keep themselves sane through it all as they slowly assimilated into Zola’s ranks. For days. Then weeks. Then months.

Until.

Their chance finally came.

\----------

“Phil! GET OUT OF THERE!!” Nick screamed, blood gushing out from his fractured leg and his newly impaled eye, still doing his best to fight off the SHIELD medic trying to drag him out of the building into safety. “The bomb-”

“I can handle it!! You get out of here!” Phil shouted back, bomb clutched tightly in hand as he chased down Zola down the corridor.

That slippery bastard wasn’t getting away. Not this time. No more deaths. No more pain. _No more._

The bomb continued ticking down, beeping incessantly at his palm. Phil’s heart was racing, he felt more alive than ever, and he picked up pace, a primal scream torn out from his throat as his fingers finally, _finally_ latched onto Zola’s sleeve.

“You’re going down with me. We’re both going down _together_. No escapes. No revives. Nothing.”

That look of defeat, that desperation, that fear - Phil wanted to burn Zola’s expression into his memory forever.

“No- I won’t! I can’t!! It won’t end like-”

The bomb counted down to zero, and in that one fleeting moment, just for the barest moment-

Phil could almost taste that caramel macchiato on his lips.

Then there was nothing.

\----------

Phil woke up with the distinct feeling that something was _very wrong_.

Things felt different. The air, the temperature. The sounds. Smells. Colours. Something was wrong.

Phil got up on his feet and looked around.

Where was he? What was going on? Didn’t the bomb go off-

And Phil caught sight of himself lying on the ground.

Face and skin like they have always been. Except it wasn’t a reflection in the mirror.

It was-

Phil took in a ragged breath, staring down at his hands, then back at his lifeless body on the floor, crushed under a pile of rubble.

He screamed.

\----------

Nick came to the collapsed building two weeks later, hobbling in with a pair of crutches and a bandage over his eye.

_“Nick. Nick, oh god, thank god you’re okay.”_

Nick limped past him - _through_ him, and Phil froze.

_“Nick?”_

No response.

_“Can you hear me? Nick, please.”_

Still no response.

“I’m sorry Phil. I’m so sorry,” Nick whispered. “I should have been the one.”

_“I’m right here! NICK!”_

Silence.

 _“Don’t do this to me Nick. NICK! I’M RIGHT HERE!!”_ Phil screamed his throat raw, but there was nothing he could do.

“I brought you something. Thought you might like it,” Nick said after a few seconds, carefully digging through his jacket and pulling out a takeaway coffee cup. Still steaming. He placed it on the ground and carefully got back up. 

Tears sprung out uncontrollably, and still, there was absolutely _nothing_ Phil could do but watch.

“Terrible though,” Nick whispered. “Tastes like fucking horseshit. Don’t know why you wanted to go there. But still.”

_“Nick…”_

“They finally even promoted me. Can you believe it? Fucking cost an eye to get that damn promotion.” Nick chuckled once. A dry, hollow laugh. “…Goodbye Phil. Thanks for everything.”

Nick sniffed, wiping at his eye. Then he picked up his crutches again, hobbling off without another look back.

\----------

If only Nick had turned back, he would have seen the cup toppling to the ground, forming a puddle of caramel macchiato all around, even though there was no wind around for miles.


	2. This is Not How The Story Ends

Time passed. It must have, because the next time Phil was suddenly aware of himself and his surroundings again, the rubble around him was completely gone, as was the coffee cup, replaced by a large, overgrown field of wild grass.

They must have cleared everything away, and Phil was still stuck here, unable to go anywhere or do anything. He was just trapped here. Alone. Even though he’s already fucking _dead_.

Then he heard a yelp in the distance, and then soft pattering of footsteps.

Phil got up on his feet.

A tiny blond head popped up over the edge of the grass, blinking at him - _at him_ , like he could actually see him.

“Hi!” The boy greeted with a shy smile.

\----------

The boy’s name was Steve, and he was-

_Necromancer._

\----------

 _“Get the fuck away from me,”_ Phil snapped, lashing out with every bit of power afforded to him by being trapped in this ghostly state.

 “Woah!” Steve yelped as he was knocked back into the air, but before he could hit the ground, a second invisible force wrapped around him from underneath, gently catching him and bringing him upright again.

Phil narrowed his eyes as another spirit – a sandy blond-haired man – materialised from a dangling keychain attached to Steve’s belt, eyes similarly narrowing at Phil.

He was eerily familiar. Seriously, ridiculously familiar. Like a carbon copy of somebody-

Phil tossed Steve back again when the boy stupidly took a step too close, and the other spirit calmly caught him once more, putting him back on his feet.

“Thanks Clint,” Steve muttered sheepishly, and Phil’s eyes snapped to the other spirit. Clint.

That’s right. Clint Barton. Hawkeye. The infamous criminal who went MIA years ago. Turns out he was too busy being dead. Good fucking riddance.

 _“If you try that again, you’ll regret that,_  Hawkeye muttered, eyes falling to the Phil’s uniform and narrowing further, before turning to Steve. _“We should go, Steve. This man’s dangerous.”_

“Dangerous?” Steve blinked, confused. “But I haven’t even-”

 _“Steve, we should go,”_ Hawkeye urged again, and Steve still didn’t listen, trying to approach Phil once more like an idiot. _“Seriou- For the love of god, Steve. He tried to kill you twice.”_

Steve looked at Hawkeye, then at Phil, back to Hawkeye. Then he pouted like a little child.

“He was just scared!!”

Phil saw Hawkeye’s eye twitch once.

_“He’s straight up evil, more like.”_

“Scared,” Steve protested.

_“Dangerous.”_

“Scared!” Steve continued to insist.

_“He’s a potential child murderer, Steve.”_

“I’m not a child!!”

 _“You say that as if being an adult murderer is any less evil than being a child murderer,_  Hawkeye grumbled tirelessly.  

“I’m not leaving him here, Clint.”

Hawkeye stared at Steve, glared at Phil, then turned to Steve.

 _“Fine. Fuc-…_ Fudging _fine. You get ten minutes. After that we’re going straight to zoo to see the otters.”_ Hawkeye turned a murderous glare onto Phil, mouthing “If you touch him, I will kill you. Again.”

“I’m not letting you bully the poor otters again.”

_“I wasn’t! I was just playing with them!!”_

“Stealing their food isn’t nice,” Steve mumbled, disapproval clear in his voice.

_“Oh come on, it was just a prank. It was harmless and frankly kind of hilarious so- You know what, it doesn’t matter. Your ten minutes are running, mister. Tick tock.”_

\----------

Phil tried to kill Steve at least twice more during those ten minutes, each time getting blocked by Hawkeye.

He was not going to let another necromancer go free and wreck havoc on the world again. Never again.

\----------

Steve came back the next day. And the next. And the next. For a fucking week.

\----------

 _“Can’t you just leave me alone?”_ Phil said. _“I don’t want anything to do with you.”_

He didn’t dare imagine what a necromancer could do to him, especially with all that information of SHIELD inside his head. Steve already had a powerful criminal on his side, if he found a way to control Phil-

He shuddered.

No. He couldn’t let that happen. Never.

But a small part of him also knew, that Steve didn’t need his cooperation to use him. All the kid needed to do was to flick his hand, and Phil would have no choice but to obey him, as did the countless spirits did under Zola’s control.

So what was he planning?

“I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help you,” Steve kept saying, seated cross-legged in the grass. “I understand why-”

And Phil snapped up, images of the dead immediately coming to mind. Blood. Zola. The things he was forced to do just to get one step closer to killing that slippery bastard. Then there was _Nick_.

_“You don’t fucking understand anything, and you never will. Just leave.”_

Steve was silent for a few seconds.

“I know you’re frustrated. Scared. Lonely. I know how that feels like-”

_“Just go. Fucking go!”_

Steve looked crestfallen, shoulders falling, and Phil’s heart suddenly gave a little twinge, which he immediately squashed away.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said and smiled again, sounding so sincere. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

Phil didn’t bother trying to dissuade him otherwise.

There was no point anyway.

\----------

Two weeks, and Phil stopped trying to kill Steve. Hawkeye would just stop him, and honestly, he had nothing in him to even care anymore. He was trapped here alone for eternity, and the only people he could talk to were a fucking necromancer and his criminal spirit.

What a joke.

Phil became completely unresponsive, didn’t talk, didn’t bother acknowledging Steve’s presence either.

He just didn’t care. What was the point?

And if Steve was bothered by it at all, he never showed it, always smiling, greeting him as always, filling up the silence with stories, countless stories. Stories of his childhood, losing his mother, meeting Erskine, learning how to use his magic, talking and helping spirits move on, a life. An actual, living life.

Not like Phil’s anymore.

His life was that of the dead, full of regrets.

\----------

“I saw a whale today. It was huge.”

\----------

“Do you think cats can see ghosts? I think one was looking at Clint weird the other day.”

\----------

“I always wanted to go to art school. Never had the money though.”

\----------

A month, and one day Steve accidentally put a hand on Phil’s shoulder.

With a flash, Steve was viciously flung back, crashing into the grass.

Phil thought he would have felt triumph, finally landing a blow on his enemy, but instead, he just felt a cold wave of guilt. Why didn’t Hawkeye stop him? Where was he anyway? When did Steve stop bringing him around?

_“I’m s-”_

The young boy got up, but not all the way, and that immediately clued Phil in that something was very wrong.

Steve started coughing violently. He gasped once, before devolving into another coughing fit. Then a very characteristic wheezing noise.

Asthma.

It was an asthma attack. 

Phil immediately spotted the blue capped inhaler lying on the grass just beside him, probably knocked out of Steve’s pocket when Phil threw him back, and then he looked back at Steve, face scrunched up in obvious distress.

The thought did cross his mind. Just let him be, let him die, let the world be free from another necromancer, so nobody else should ever need to suffer again.

But then-

 _“He’s just a goddamn kid,”_ Hawkeye told him once. _“He’s not-”_ A sigh. _“I know what your organisation’s history is with people like him. But he’s not what you think he is. He’s just a kid.”_

And Phil knew what he had to do.

In another flash, he was by Steve’s side, pulling him upright to help him breathe better and thrusting the inhaler into his mouth. 

 _“Breathe in,”_ Phil ordered as he dispensed the medication, and Steve obeyed as best he could, shakily inhaling as much as he could. Steve’s skin was feverish hot to the touch, eyes in a daze and unfocused.

Why didn’t Phil notice this beforehand? He should have realised the kid wasn’t well to begin with today. He’d been more lethargic than usual, not speaking as energetically either. In fact, Phil should have realised something was off about him for the past few days as well.

God, why didn’t Phil notice any of it? Why didn’t Steve _say_ anything?

“I-” Steve tried to speak, but obviously still couldn’t.

Phil made him take another dose of medication minutes later, and slowly, after a long time, Steve’s wheezing finally subsided, able to breathe normally again.

But the kid was evidently exhausted, still leaning heavily against Phil, unable to really move.

_“You okay?”_

Steve nodded.

 _“You should have said something,"_  Phil said, a hand pressed against Steve’s forehead. Still burning hot. _“Why didn’t you?”_

Steve looked up, eyes half-closed.

“Clint wouldn’t have let me go out,” he mumbled.

 _“You’re sick. You shouldn’t_ be _going out.,_  Phil said flatly.

Steve gave a weak laugh, smiling.

“Didn’t-” Steve took a breath and croaked out. “Didn’t want you to be _alone_.”

And Phil?

God, Phil felt like the worst person to ever exist in this universe. Such a despicable human being that didn’t deserve a damn fucking thing.

\----------

 _“I’ll come with you,”_ Phil declared to Steve the next time he saw the young kid, nearly a full week after his terrible asthma attack.

Now fully recovered and back to his usual cheery, smiling self, Steve grinned, perking up like a child seeing a candy store for the first time.

“Really?!”

Hawkeye raised an eyebrow at Phil, but Phil ignored him.

 _“Yeah.”_ Phil nodded, and Steve practically bounded over, pulling out a bunch of dollar-store keychains from his pocket.

“I can anchor you to one of these. Which one do you like?”

Phil’s immediate answer was to say he didn’t really care, but Steve’s wide eyed, genuine look instantly made him swallow that answer up, blend it into mush and eject it from his brain forever. God, he already knew this kid would be the death of him.

Phil scanned the keychains, then pointed to one with a tiny penguin on it.

“Ooh. That’s the same design as Clint’s.”

Phil felt his eye twitch.

_“On second thought, I want the seal instead.”_

Hawkeye raised another eyebrow. 

“A seal?” Steve asked, completely bewildered. “But don’t seals eat-” He paused. “Oh…”

Steve looked up at Phil with the most disappointed expression ever.

“…That’s _mean_.”

Phil smirked.

\----------

 _“I’m warning you now, if you dare touch or hurt a single hair of Steve’s, I will not hesitate to end you. Make you wish you were dead, and I mean_ really _dead,”_ Hawkeye- Barton threatened.

 _“I’m not going to,”_ Phil said, surprising even himself at how firm his voice was. He met Barton’s eyes evenly, voice softening. _“He’s just a kid.”_

\----------

Phil didn’t realise how much he missed being free, not until Steve started bringing him out, sometimes with Barton, and other times just him.

He couldn’t feel the wind in his hair anymore, or the sun on his face, it was nowhere near the same as _living_ , but Phil experienced things differently now that he was a spirit, and some days, he’d even catch himself thinking:

Hey, maybe this isn’t so bad after all.

Still, nothing could change the fact that he had one last thing tying him to the earth. One last regret, one last wish.

Something – that according to Steve – was the very reason why he was a spirit in the first place.

\----------

It took nearly three months before he finally trusted Steve enough to tell him about it, and Steve – as young as a kid he may have been, flashed him a kind, soft smile.

“Thank you for trusting me.”

\----------

They went down to the café that very next day at exactly eight in the morning, Steve ordering a cup of steaming hot caramel macchiato.

It was a Friday, particularly the second Friday of the month, and as Steve settled the cup down in the table, the bells at the door let out a gentle clang to signal the entrance of a new customer. Phil’s eyes immediately darted up.

Always right on time. Or not. Always at 8.02am. Not a second too early or late. Never ever punctual at the agreed time of 8am.

And Nick still looked the same as ever, even with the number of years that passed since Phil-

“An Americano. No sugar or milk.”

Phil’s throat went dry, a hard lump forming right in the centre. Still the same damn person as ever.

Nick was dressed in full black – Phil used to give him shit for that all the time - and the eyepatch now donning his eye? _Also black._

Phil couldn’t help but snort. Yeah, definitely the same fucking person.

He couldn’t be any happier. Or sad. He didn’t know which. Did it even matter?

Steve was quiet through it all, seemingly oblivious to the proceedings between them, but the kid had never been good at pretending. He saw much more than he let on, was smart enough to understand things without needing to be told explicitly either. He must have known from the start that Phil’s reason for coming to this specific café extended way past the simple need of getting a drink, but Steve made no move to mention it, resolutely focusing on his cup of caramel macchiato.

“It tastes weird,” Steve mumbled softly, frowning. “Like…Like-” And he paused, frowned some more. “Like _horseshit_.” He made a sad, betrayed pout, before his eyes basically turned as round as saucers. “Don’t tell Clint I said that.”

Phil, against everything else – the deep ache in his heart, the weight lifted off his shoulders, even the familiar irritation at his stupid partner whose wardrobe continued to be dominated by a single, boring colour – started to laugh.

\----------

Something lifted off him after that trip, and Phil knew, that if he chose to, he could leave. Fade forever. Be at peace.

It was right there, waiting.

Steve must have known too, for his smiles started having a hint of sadness whenever he looked at Phil. Just a sprinkle of it, and with expectant eyes that almost _wanted_ him to go.

But Phil knew better.

He knew of Steve’s past, how the kid always found the strength in him to say goodbye to every single spirit he helped, no matter how much it hurt. He’d seen Steve sobbing alone countless times with the most broken look on his face, always huddled in a corner shivering. Cold. Perpetually cold, because no spirit’s touch could ever mimic the warmth of the living, and there was nothing he could do to offer Steve the comfort he wanted. _Needed_.

And Phil realised then, that he couldn’t leave. Not yet.

Because somebody like Steve deserved to have at least one person take the burden of saying goodbye to him at the very end. Not the other way around.

So that’s what he did.

He ignored that door into the light.

And _stayed._


	3. This is Not At All Babysitting

He watched as Steve grew up, from a young dumb reckless idiot to a slightly older dumb reckless idiot.

But Steve was still Phil’s dumb reckless idiot, and as he eventually realised, was also _Clint’s_ dumb reckless idiot.

And being the unfortunate caretakers of said dumb reckless idiot, both of them were responsible for keeping him out of trouble – which in some cases tended to be near impossible, because it was like Steve had a literal danger radar on his head, and wherever he went was wherever trouble tended to be.

Like-

Being stupid enough to use his necromancy magic _right beside fucking SHIELD headquarters_ just because he found a sad poor spirit dog of some sort trapped there.

“But he’s lonely!” Steve protested with his usual wide-eyed innocent look, as if he didn’t just set off a million danger alarms in the one place whose sole purpose was to catch and kill people like him.

Phil and Clint both cursed out loud. It was probably right there at the tip of their tongues, to lecture, scold, chastise, but one look at Steve’s stupid expression, so damn apologetic and guilty – seriously how the hell is he so good at doing that – made both of them simultaneously release a long sigh.

 _“You are so grounded after this,"_  Phil began, and Clint nodded firmly beside him. _“So very fucking grounded that if you dare take a foot, an inch, a fucking_ nanometer _out of the house, I will personally tie you to your bed and make you live there-”_

 _“-For the rest of your life.”_ Clint crossed his arms.

_“-Yes for the rest of your life!”_

Steve’s eyes widened, and the stupid (newly-rescued) spirit dog beside him let out the most untimely bark, panting happily, absolutely oblivious to the amount of danger they were in right now.

Fucking hell.

Now they have not one but _two_ idiot puppies to deal with.

Then the doors to SHIELD headquarters slammed open, and out poured a horde of black-cladded agents, armed to the teeth.

Phil exchanged a look with Clint.

Yeah, they were _so_ grounding Steve for life.

\----------

Steve’s punishment of being grounded lasted exactly as long as Phil’s and Clint’s combined immunity to his sad puppy-dog looks did.

Which is to say:

Not very long at all.

\----------

The next time both of them had to bail Steve out from a sticky situation, it was entirely not the young man’s fault at all. For once.

Steve was at the park sketching, knees tucked to his chest with the sketchbook perched on his lap, looking massive in comparison to his tiny frame.

The kid looked relaxed, enjoying a small moment of peace, until Clint suddenly materialised behind Phil, hissing urgently,

_“Phil, your people are here again.”_

_“What?”_

_“At your ten o’clock.”_

Phil’s eyes darted up, shoulders tensing near instantly.

Two undercover agents. A brunette male and his red-haired female companion. False sweet smiles on their faces, but with eagle-like eyes taking in every detail of their surroundings, analysing each person that walked past. Clearly lying in wait for something. Or _someone_.

Phil instantly went cold.

An ambush.

_“We need to get Steve out of here right now.”_

Clint looked over at Steve - still absorbed in his drawing, humming a soft tune under his breath – and back at Phil, shoulders falling slightly.

 _“Yeah, I know,"_  Phil said softly, glancing over at Steve as well.

The young man barely had the chance to relax these days ever since the necromancer Pierce came about a few months ago – almost a carbon copy of Zola before him – halfway through his conquest in taking over the world with his undead armies.

SHIELD had been swarming all over, and it was only with careful strategising and meticulous planning that Steve managed to remain under the radar all this time, slipping through the cracks.

It wasn’t easy, especially with Steve’s incurable tendency to help and befriend every single spirit he came across, no doubt releasing powerful flares of magic that must have set off every SHIELD alarm in the vicinity, summoning armies of SHIELD agents homing in on his location.

But what could they do? Steve was _Steve_ , and there was nothing in the world – or universe – that could stop him from doing something he thought was right (or at least both Clint and Phil have long given up trying to get him to grow a brain and persuade him otherwise).

 _“Five more at two o’clock. And two at six,"_  Clint whispered, and Phil’s jaw tightened as he spotted said agents, all similarly undercover, pockets no doubt filled to the brim with lethal magic weaponry.

This wasn’t good. Not at all. They were completely surrounded like this, all exits cleverly blocked.

And then a small bark drew Phil’s attention down.

Lucky – the dumb spirit dog Steve had saved months ago – wagged his tail up at Phil, head cocking to the side.

Another flash, and Jarvis appeared. Then Wade. Dugan. Gabe. Jim. Jacques. Everyone.

Phil blinked at all of them, suddenly at a loss for words.

Then Dugan cleared his throat, speaking up.

_“Well? What do you want us to do?”_

Phil peeked up at Steve – still at his bench, deeply engrossed and completely oblivious – and then exchanged a look with Clint.

 _“Okay.”_ Phil nodded. _“Listen up now. Here’s what we have to do.”_

\----------

Wade and Clint set off a magic alarm at the other end of the park. Gabe made a smoke bomb malfunction and detonate. Dugan and the other spirits jammed the agents’ comms. Phil possessed an unsuspecting elderly man and posed as a bumbling lost tourist, asking for directions. And then Lucky took the most important job, distracting Steve and leading him to safety.

It only took a short five minutes to accomplish, and at the end of it all, Steve successfully escaped from SHIELD’s grasp being none the wiser, blissfully unaware that anything was happening in the first place.   

\----------

Five days after that Steve freed one of Pierce’s mind-controlled spirits, gentle magic threading through and slicing away all of the dark, murky magic holding her down.

She left them one last gift before she faded away into the afterlife, a handwritten message, seemingly just scribbles.

Steve couldn’t figure out what it was, but Phil?

He took just one look at it and immediately knew what had to be done. 

\----------

SHIELD got an anonymous tip-off the very next day, and exactly eight hours after that, Pierce was shot dead.

\----------

It was weeks of relative peace after that, without Phil or Clint needing to step in and save Steve from SHIELD.

Until another curveball was thrown at him, because Steve was Steve and would always remain a dumb stupid idiot with even stupider ideas.  

“I think I want to find a permanent home for everyone. It’ll be nice to have a place to be safe and hang around right? What do you guys think?”

Phil could already think of a million reasons why that was a horrible, _horrible_ idea, the main one being:

That was basically painting a giant red target on Steve’s back. And front. And head. His empty, stupid _hollow_ head. He might as well just start parading in front of SHIELD fully naked and beg them to shoot him.

But Phil didn’t say a single word, and neither did Clint. What was the point when the outcome would remain unchanged anyway?

So they just exchanged a single, knowing look, and then nodded at Steve.

“Sounds like a great plan.”

Steve beamed as bright as a full moon on a cloudless day.

\----------

Things went surprisingly well.

The other spirits loved the home, used their magic to transform the battered cabin into a huge mansion, painting the walls in all shades of Steve’s favourite colours and keeping the fridge stocked with his favourite foods.

And on Steve’s birthday, they prepared a huge surprise party, with confetti, presents and a giant chocolate cake.

Steve had burst into tears at that, smiling and crying, then laughing and crying some more.  

It was a good day.

\----------

Then trouble came knocking at their door again, this one in the form of an actual bleeding, half-dead _SHIELD_ agent.

\----------

_“Steve-”_

“No, I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t care. He’s dying, and I can’t just leave him there.” Steve frowned.

 _“He’s a SHIELD agent,”_ Phil tried. _“Do you even know what SHIELD would do if they ever catch you? They won’t just_ kill _you, you know. There are a lot of things worse than death you can’t even imagine.”_

Steve shook his head adamantly without saying a word.

 _“He’ll know your face._ They _will know your face. You won’t be able to hide, to run, because there will be_ nowhere else to run to _.”_

Steve was quiet for approximately two whole seconds, then he met Phil’s gaze, firm enough that Phil’s heart immediately sank.

“I don’t care. I won’t let him die.”

\----------

The SHIELD agent’s name was Bucky, and from the very first moment Phil saw Steve blush at making first eye contact, he knew it was over.

\----------

Bucky was like the perfect embodiment of what a SHIELD agent should be. A good soldier. Cold, courageous, determined, intelligent, observant. Strong. Always strong.

But his eyes-

They were _warm_.

\----------

It still took time though, approximately a whole week before Phil finally realised Bucky had no intention of hurting Steve, and right after that realisation, it took basically two more seconds to figure out that Bucky too, was downright _stupid_ for Steve.

\----------

 _“You know how you need a telescope to see planets like Mars? And even then it’s all blurry and tiny? This is like…the very opposite of that,”_ Clint droned one day, staring at the scene unfolding right in front of them.

Because in front of them, was exhibit A:

Steve trying to be discreet about sketching Bucky lying in bed, and Bucky being entirely aware of the fact but having enough sense to be marginally better at pretending otherwise.

Few seconds later, and Bucky caught Steve staring. The blond man immediately ducked behind his sketchbook, raising it like a shield. Bucky’s lips quirked up, eyes shining.

_“God, it’s like we’re watching a romcom, except the fast forward button on the remote is straight up broken and we’re stuck having to watch this in slow motion.”_

Phil fully agreed.

\----------

Then there was exhibit B:

Bucky stealing Steve’s favourite chocolate candy off his lunch tray and making a prompt escape downstairs, swinging a leg over the railings to avoid putting weight on his still-injured leg.

“HEY!!” Steve protested, the effect of which was fully ruined by that ridiculous sunny grin on his face as he chased Bucky down.

Bucky laughed and dodged to the left when Steve lunged over, darting away.

Their little scuffle continued down all the way into the kitchen, until Steve finally got the upper hand (or Bucky _let_ him to) and cornered Bucky, fingers wrapped firmly around Bucky’s arm – the one wrapping around his stolen candy piece.

“Caught you!” Steve laughed. “Now release the hostage!”

Bucky similarly laughed, even as his eyes quickly scanned over Steve’s body, his rising chest, his light pants. Nothing too intense to trigger an attack. He obediently opened his palm, and Steve perked up when he saw the candy piece whole, still undamaged.

“Mine,” Steve declared proudly as he claimed his candy. Bucky let him.

Steve immediately unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth, letting out a satisfied hum as the sweet taste exploded in his mouth.

And then here was the cringeworthy moment:

Bucky’s eyes softening like molten candle wax, still smiling, and Steve making eye contact, eyes growing slightly wide and smirk vanishing, cheeks already starting to go red.

 _“Oh my god, is this finally it? Is this the coveted moment?”_ Clint – the not so discreet (or silent) bystander – whispered, peeking around the door. _“Are they finally going to-”_

-Then Steve immediately pulled away, mumbling an apology, and the moment was officially lost.

Both Phil and Clint smashed their heads against the kitchen door, groaning out loud.

\----------

Thus the world’s dumbest, most painful courting ritual continued.

For days.

Then _weeks_.

And now, this was getting straight up ridiculous.

\----------

 _“Steve,”_ Phil finally said one day.

“Yeah?” The man blinked up at him.

_“You should just ask him out.”_

Steve squawked and went red, walking right into a wall.

\----------

Then Phil spotted Steve one afternoon packing up a small bag, stuffing in clothes, bottles of water and a whole bunch of snacks.

_“Steve-”_

“I know what you’re going to say, but no,” Steve hurriedly said, eyes firmly locked onto the tiny black haversack.

_“You could go with him. You know we would all follow you.”_

Steve froze, still not looking up. Then he shook his head.

“No, I can’t. It’s not-” Steve zipped up the bag and sighed soundlessly, suddenly looking utterly broken and sad for the faintest second, before his expression steeled back to normal. “This is your home and I- No, I just _can’t_.”

Phil didn’t press further.

\----------

Steve threw himself back straight to helping spirits after Bucky left, but nothing, absolutely nothing, could hide the fact that Steve was purely and utterly miserable.

\----------

After days and days of seeing the sad puddle named Steve lumber around the mansion faking smiles and pretending everything was okay, the spirits collectively decided – enough was enough.

They were going to take things into their own hands now.

\----------

“What’s this?” Steve asked the very next morning, frowning at the new pile of bags neatly arranged at the door.

 _“An intervention,”_ Phil said.

 _“To stop you from pining and moping around,”_ Clint added with a nod, and Steve blushed.

“I don’t pine,” Steve protested. “Or mope.”

Both Phil and Clint shot him the exact same look.

 _“Sure you don’t,”_ Clint said flatly.

Steve went even redder.

 _“Anyway, besides that, we’ve come to an agreement,”_ Phil announced, gesturing to all the spirits around who nodded eagerly.

“What agreement?”

 _“That we should all leave.”_ And find Bucky, he didn’t say. It didn’t need to be said.

Steve immediately looked confused.

“But…this is your home.”

_“Yes, but so was sleeping at the side of the streets, sleeping in that abandoned construction site, even that one time you thought it was a good idea to live out in the park even though we told you it was a terrible idea and mosquitoes lived there-”_

“It _was_ a good idea,” Steve mumbled in protest. “Theoretically.”

_“Yeah, and then you caught the West Nile virus and had to be hospitalised for a week.”_

“Theoretically,” Steve emphasised sulkily.

 _“But point is – Homes can change. And for us? Home is wherever you want to be. Wherever you are_ happy _, Steve. And right now, here? You’re not happy.”_

Steve looked away, not saying a word.

_“You can’t keep living among the dead, Steve. You’re a person, you’re alive, you deserve to enjoy everything life has to offer, and that involves being around other people. Making friends. Going out. Seeing the world. Even falling in love.”_

Steve flinched at the last bit, shoulders hunched in even more. Then, very quietly, he said,

“But I’m dangerous. My powers- I…I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

And there it was finally. The truth behind Steve’s stubborn self-imposed isolation, hidden under layers and layers of fake smiles and forced laughter. How long had Steve thought that, made himself _believe_ that?

Phil paused for a long moment. Then,

 _“Yeah. You are dangerous.”_ He nodded solemnly, and Steve flinched again, growing even smaller. _“…Just about as dangerous as a slightly small hamster.”_

Steve immediately snapped up in dismay, pouting just like said animal counterpart, cheeks all puffed out.

“I’m not a hamster!”

Phil smirked at that, then reached out to gently pat Steve’s head.  

 _“But really, you’re not dangerous. Your_ powers _are dangerous, but you? You would never hurt anyone. Not a fly, not a single soul. Literally.”_ Phil ruffled through Steve’s hair. _“So come on now, you have a life to live.”_

Steve looked towards the other spirits, Clint, Wade, Jarvis, even Lucky, and then finally, back at Phil.

He cracked a small, hopeful smile.

“…Alright. You guys win.”


	4. This is Not The End, this is a New Beginning

Things went just about as well as Phil expected, with a whole army of SHIELD agents barging into Bucky’s house and pointing their guns at Steve.

Phil and the other spirits disarmed them all in a single second.

\----------

He prepared for nearly every eventuality. Tranq darts, cuffs, electric locks, even sleeping gas, but nothing could remotely prepare him for when _Nick_ walked into the room, clad in black as always.

Phil instantly froze.

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Nick began, voice harsh. “You’ve really made a mess around here.”

Steve blinked at Nick.

“Uhm…I’m sorry?”

“If it were up to me, I’ll be locking you away somewhere deep enough to rot and be forgotten. Very far away from anyone you could ever hurt.”

Steve’s eyes widened.

“ _But_ -” And Nick sighed. “Since…that is obviously not an option-” He glanced towards the new set of cuffs on the table that have been very properly destroyed into dust. “-We find ourselves with no choice but to compromise.”

“Uh…”

“You will not leave this room without permission, definitely not use any of your powers, do as you’re told, answer any questions we may have for you, and we’ll allow you to see Agent Barnes-”

Steve perked up at the name.

“-Just maybe.”

Steve sulked, but agreed.

\----------

Nick came by a few more times, and each time Phil completely froze at the sight of him, unable to move or speak, and each time still, Steve never said a single word or asked anything, save throwing a few concerned glances here and there.

 _“He was my partner,”_ Phil finally confessed to Steve once, deep into the night.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me if you don’t want to.”

Phil smiled in spite of himself. This damn kid hasn’t changed a single bit.

 _“I want to. You should know,”_ Phil said.

Steve made a noise of acknowledgement, and Phil continued.

_“It was a mission gone awry. We were fighting a war against a powerful necromancer. People were dying left and right. It lasted months, then when it came down to the very last end, I died. Nick didn’t.”_

“I’m sorry.”

_“Happened a long time ago now.”_

“Still…that’s horrible. I’m sorry,” Steve murmured. “If you uhm…ever want to talk to him, I can always help y-”

Phil shook his head.

 _“No. I can’t do that. I’m dead. The dead don’t talk. And besides…it’s more than enough to know he’s okay.”_ Phil forced a small smile.  

Steve nodded once, silent for a short moment. Then he grinned a little. “Guess I finally know why you hate necromancers so much.”

Phil snorted, thinking back to the time he first met Steve, blind with rage and fear and oh so ready to tear him into pieces.

 _“Sure I do,"_  he said, then looked back down at Steve. _“But I don’t hate you.”_

Steve blinked once and beamed.

\----------

Steve won over basically every SHIELD agent that came in to interrogate him, even the red-haired agent with sharp eyes who looked like she could swallow Steve whole and eat him for breakfast.

“So what are your intentions with James?”

“J-James?” Steve stammered, already nervous. 

“Bucky.”

“Oh.” Steve blinked again. “Uhm…”

“Are you going to hurt him?”

“ _No_! Never! I just uhm…want to be friends with him.”

“Friends huh?” The woman droned, with a voice so flat and sharp it could slice the air into pieces.

“…Yes?”

“Was that a question or an answer?”

“No? I mean- Yes. Err…” Steve wilted away further, twiddling his thumbs.

“Okay…So you _do_ want to be friends with him.”

“Yes..? I mean _yes_. Yes ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am.”

“Yes. Sorry,” Steve mumbled. “Ma’am.” He added after half a second’s hesitation.

The woman sighed out loud.

“So just friends then.”

“Uhm…yes.”

“Not more than friends?”

“No?” Steve tried, and she raised an eyebrow. “-I mean yes?” Another raise of an eyebrow. “-Or no..? Errr…yes? No? I…I don’t know,” Steve rambled, sinking so deep into his chair he might as well have permanently melted into it.

Then the woman snorted once, smirking.

“I can see why he likes you.”

“He likes me?” Steve immediately shot right back up like a damn meerkat peering out from its hole.

Both Clint and Phil facepalmed hard at that. God this kid, this dumb, stupid precious idiot-

The woman blinked at him, then her lips curled into a sly smile.

“Well… _maybe_.”

Steve sulked.

\----------

It took a few more weeks before SHIELD finally released Steve into Bucky’s care, and Steve could not be more ecstatic.

He jumped around, sketched the house (and Bucky) constantly, learnt how to bake, and all in all, continued part two of his very useless and painful courting ritual.

Like exhibit C:

The pair were having a picnic at the park, with sandwiches and strawberries and boxes of Steve’s homemade chocolate cake.

It was a nice, peaceful time, staring out into the lake where a family of swans were swimming.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” Steve said.

Bucky grinned.

“Thought you would have liked it.”

“I do.”

Steve then pulled out the last strawberry from the box and waved it at Bucky.

“Want the last one?”

A single glimmer darting across Bucky’s eyes was all the warning Steve got. Bucky pulled Steve’s hand close, then dipped down and ate the strawberry right from his fingertips.

Steve made a ‘meep’ noise and immediately flushed red.

“Sweet,” Bucky murmured, eyes locked on Steve’s.

Steve went even redder, and then he looked away, fidgeting slightly.

“Uhm…Yeah. Good uh…strawberries. Red. Uh. Sweet. Good…Good strawberries.”

Bucky smiled, but there was no missing the disappointment in his eyes.

And Phil?

He wanted to smash his head into a concrete wall and scream.

\----------

One afternoon, Steve accidentally fell asleep on the couch, curled up like a tiny mouse (despite his large frame) with his sketchbook lying open by his side.

Bucky covered him with a thick fluffy blanket, fingers lingering ever so slightly at his back, and then he picked up Steve’s sketchbook.

Phil didn’t stop him. It wasn’t as if Bucky didn’t know what Steve was drawing anyway.

All drawings of Bucky of course, all not so discretely drawn by Steve, and Bucky smiled as he flipped through, eyes shining.

Then he flipped to the very last page, and Phil picked up the pencil, picking a blank space and writing,

_You like him._

Bucky barely flinched when the pencil moved on its own. He simply waited, and read the message.

“I do,” Bucky said softly.

_Why don’t you, then?_

Bucky said nothing for a long moment.

“It wouldn’t be right,” He finally murmured, casting a glance towards Steve. “He’s…still working out some things on his own. He has to make the first move.”

_Might be a while._

Bucky chuckled.

“I can wait.”

\----------

Exactly two weeks after that conversation, Steve finally made his move – kind of. Baking a chocolate cake that he knew was Bucky’s favourite, then hanging around a few inches closer than usual, like he was planning something, or just waiting.

“-God Buck. There’s chocolate all over your mouth. And your fingers.”

Bucky immediately licked everything off with a purr and turned to look at Steve, eyes shining when Steve gave him an almost awestruck look, face all flushed once again.

“Uhm,” Steve said. How very eloquent. “You uh- The chocolate – I just-”

And Phil had just about reached his absolute limit for sappy, stupid romcom material, exchanging a single knowing look with Clint and then firmly shoving Steve forward.

“-Eep!”

Steve crashed right into Bucky with such impeccable aim, and Clint started clapping from the sidelines.

Then Steve scrambled back, completely red and in a full-blown panic mood. He turned around, almost screaming,

“Oh my _god!_ Which one of you did that!! Why did you-”

 _“The romcom was going too slow. We had to fast forward it,"_  Clint burst in, and all the other spirits in the room nodded agreeably.

Steve looked back at Bucky and somehow went even redder.

“What- _No!_ ”

_“Oh come on, we all know you have the hots for your Bucky-boo over there. It can literally be seen from outer space so-”_

“For the last time, no! Get out! Stay out of this room and don’t ever-”

_“It’s not like the walls can actually-”_

“-No I don’t care if you can walk through walls!! Go away!!” 

Then Steve finally turned back to Bucky, but doing everything to avoid eye contact.

“I’m so sorry Buck, that was- It was just- Oh god, I’m so sorry.”

Phil saw Bucky’s face immediately soften, eyes going warm – liquid warm.

“You’re such an idiot,” Bucky laughed, reaching out with a hand and pulling Steve in.

Few months ago Steve would have instantly ducked away and ran off, like he was allergic to touch of any sort – which in some ways, he _was_. Now though, he barely resisted, almost welcoming it even, tumbling into Bucky’s chest, with a hand pressed against his arm.

Bucky leaned in slowly, giving Steve every chance to back away.

He didn’t.

\----------

Neither Phil nor Clint would ever admit to tearing up at the sight, with all the other spirits in the background cheering, making a shower of gold confetti rain down on the new couple.

\----------

And so the two idiots finally got together, ushering in a new era of sickeningly sweet (but admittedly adorable) romance.

They went on cute dates, did cute things together, and everything was happy and well.

But of course, the past always had a way of catching back up, as it always did, which eventually-

-Brought them back to this exact moment.

“He didn’t want to tell you!” Steve blurted out.

And Nick stopped dead in his tracks.

There was a long silence.

“…What did you say?”

Steve’s eyes flickered back to Phil, but Phil still couldn’t say a single word.

“What do you mean he didn’t want to tell me,” Nick huffed.

“He didn’t…I-” Steve looked to Phil again.

 _“I…I can’t.”_ Phil shook his head. _“I’m sorry.”_

“He didn’t want to tell you,” Steve said. “Because he’s gone. He’s dead. He doesn’t… _exist_ anymore.”

Nick opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then closed it again.

“I know fucking well how _dead_ he is,” Nick snapped viciously, glaring up at Steve. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“I wasn’t-”

Without another word, Nick stormed right back out, slamming the door shut.

Steve turned to Phil.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

 _“I-”_ Have to be, Phil couldn’t say. Because it would never be okay. Phil died and Nick didn’t, and all there was left was an unfulfilled promise between them. Forever there, forever broken. A tragic ending to all they’ve been through.

 _“…I don’t know,”_ Phil ended up saying.

\----------

Days passed, and Nick didn’t come back.

Steve obviously knew it was bothering Phil, but was kind enough not to bring it up either, always giving Phil a small smile whenever their eyes met, clearly saying “you can talk to me whenever you want”.

And nearly a week after that meeting, Phil finally took up Steve’s offer.

_“Can we talk?”_

“Of course.”

_“It’s about…Nick.”_

“Do you want to…” Steve trailed off.

Phil _had_ been thinking about it. For the past whole week it had been plaguing him night and day and he still didn’t have an answer.

“It might be good,” Steve said. “For both of you to get some closure.”

 _“I don’t know…”_ Phil sighed. _“I’m dead. I’m not even supposed to be here.”_

“And magic’s not supposed to exist, and here we all are.”

_“That’s different.”_

Steve shrugged.

“I don’t see anything wrong. I’ve met so many spirits that decided to stay with their loved ones, to watch over them, take care of them, even in death. There’s nothing wrong with you wanting to reconnect with the living.”

_“I can’t, Steve. I’m supposed to be dead.”_

“Well yeah, but Nick knows you’re dead. You know _you’re_ dead. Both of you know and accept that. So what else is holding you back?”

Phil couldn’t think of an answer, and Steve pressed on.

“You two were partners right? He’ll understand, I’m sure, whatever it is you have to say. You don’t have to be scared.”

And that was the crux of the whole issue, wasn’t it? Plain simple fear. So much easier to ignore everything than to lay everything out, split open those old wounds again.

“You once told me I should live my life among the living, so maybe you should live your life as a spirit. Not as a living person nor as the dead, but somewhere in between. Alive enough to connect with the living, but dead enough not to affect anything.”

Phil snorted at that.

_“Using my own words against me now?”_

Steve grinned.

“Learnt from the best.”

Phil couldn’t help but laugh at that.

\----------

Phil went to see Nick late into the night, opening and closing the door to announce his arrival.

Nick looked around suspiciously for a moment. Then,

“…Phil?”

Hearing his own name made him choke up a little, and Phil walked over to the table where Nick was seated, pulling out a stack of blank papers and a pencil.

“It’s you, isn’t it?”

 _Hi, Nick._ Phil wrote at the top.

Nick stared at the paper in disbelief for a few seconds, fingers pressed to the writing – in Phil’s exact handwriting.

“Hi,” He breathed out, nearly a croak. “Phil.” 

_It’s been a long time._

“It has,” Nick agreed. “I’m the director of SHIELD now. Big step-up from being a mere grunt.”

 _Yeah. I know._ Phil paused, before adding, _don’t let it get to your head._

Nick snorted.

“God, it’s really you, isn’t it? How- You’ve been here all this while? Since…”

_Yeah. Ever since that day._

“Rogers didn’t-”

 _No._ Phil wrote, and underlined it a few times. _He helped me. Saved me._

“Oh,” Nick said. 

_I tried to kill him a couple times when we first met. Didn’t work._

Nick snorted.

“He’s kind of…an oddball.”

_He’s an idiot, more like. A real fucking terrible necromancer._

Nick actually laughed at that.

“He’s very different from Pierce. Or Zola.”

_He’s a good person._

Nick sighed, confessing softly, “yeah, I know.”

_He brought me to the café once. Many years back._

“You were there?”

 _I was. He ordered a caramel macchiato, and you ordered an Americano. No sugar or milk._ Phil waited, then added, _boring as always._

Nick smiled.

“…I’m glad.” He nodded. “I guess we did end up fulfilling that promise. Sort of.”

_Yeah. It was nice._

“Did you ever…” Nick sighed and shook his head. “I guess there’s no point now. You died.”

 _I don’t regret doing it._ Phil wrote. _Detonating the bomb to kill Zola. I would have done it again in a heartbeat._

“It should have been me,” Nick whispered, an old hurt rising back up to the surface.

_I’m glad it wasn’t._

“Still-”

 _I’m glad it wasn’t._ Phil wrote again, underlining it a few times for good measure.

“Stubborn as always,” Nick grumbled. “Can’t even die and be at peace properly.”

_I am at peace. I am happy. _

“Then why are you still here? Spirits don’t just…stick around. Not unless they have something holding them back. Or at least that’s what Rogers constantly writes in his reports.”

Phil’s answer came to him much more easily than he anticipated.

_Because of Steve. And Bucky. And a promise I made to somebody a long time ago._

Nick started blinking rapidly, but smiled. 

“That was a dumb promise.”

_But we still made it in the end. You, in that chair. And me, here._

“Yeah, and I lost an eye and you’re fucking dead.” Nick snorted. “If you call that a success, your brain seriously needs to get checked, because that amount of optimism is purely _astounding_.”

Phil knocked Nick’s coffee mug over the table in retaliation.

“Really? Someone will have to clean that, you know.”

_You started it._

“You’re as awful as you’ve always been.”

_You’re as stupid as you’ve always been._

Nick started laughing for real again.

“God, it’s just…” Nick swallowed. “You’ve not changed a single bit, have you? I’m so glad you’re here, even if you’re not _really_ here.”

_You’ve not changed all that much either. I mean, just look at your wardrobe._

Nick rolled his eyes.

“You’re never going to let that one go, are you? God.”

_No, never. But still, I’m proud of you, Nick._

Nick started blinking rapidly again.

“Thanks Phil.”

\----------

Two days later, Nick came to see Steve, handing over a package with a grunt.

Steve took it uncertainly, like he was expecting it to explode or contain some sort of dangerous poison.

“Uhm…thanks?”

Phil peered over curiously as Steve opened it.  

It had a large stack of folders, a communicator, and a large metallic badge tapped to the front.

It said:

_Steven Grant Rogers, SHIELD Consultant._

Phil broke into a grin.

“I…what? Uhm…” Steve looked so awfully lost. “What’s this?”

“It’s exactly what it is,” Nick said flatly, crossing his arms. “Accept it, or don’t.”

“Are…you sure?” Steve peeked up, fingers running across the badge.

Nick nodded, raising a hand. Steve stared hard at it, still at a loss, before finally reaching out to meet the handshake.

“Welcome to SHIELD, Rogers.”

“Thank you. Sir.”

And Nick looked up to thin air, making solid eye contact with Phil even though he had no way of knowing where Phil currently was.

“And thank you, for taking care of Phil,” he added more softly, and Steve’s eyes widened.

“I…” Steve trailed off, settled for nodding instead. “Thank you for trusting me.”

Nick nodded once, and that was it.

Steve was officially part of SHIELD now.

\----------

Nearly two years after that, Steve and Bucky were still living together, still growing strong, and right now, those two grown men were bickering in the living room of their home, arguing over what they should watch (not for the first time).

“An animated movie.”

“Pshh no. We’re watching an action movie. We’re not children, Steve.”

“But it has good art!”

“Action movies have pretty good art.”

“No they don’t.”

“Yes they do.”

“No they don’t!”

It was as clear as day to Phil and to anyone watching that Bucky obviously didn’t really give a shit about what they were watching. He just wanted to see Steve get all riled up (granted, it was adorable).

“But you see Stevie, you’re forgetting the most important part. I have the remote right here, so I have all supreme power.”

“That’s not fair! You chose last time!!”

“Hey, it was a mutual agreement.”

“No it wasn’t!”

The two started wrestling on the couch for the remote like a bunch of children, and Phil simply snorted and shook his head in amusement.

It had been such a long journey for Steve (and Bucky too), just to get to this point.

They were like any other couple, having ups and downs and weird arguments that led to slamming doors and half-hearted insults, but unlike most couples, neither were afraid to be the bigger person and admit that they were wrong. They never liked the idea of the other being mad at them, and even though they fought, the two always ended up making up at the end of the day, usually with a whole assortment of chocolate dessert offerings thrusted into each other’s faces – each other’s favourites.

Of course, they still had their own respective lives – Steve with his occasional SHIELD missions and his own personal mission of helping spirits, and Bucky as a full-time SHIELD elite agent, taking down supernatural threats that plagued the world whenever they appeared. Sometimes they could go weeks without seeing each other at all, but without fail, they always found a way to come back together, picking right back up from wherever they left off with just a simple touch or a soft smile.

Even Phil found his own place in the world too, a nice grey spot between the living and the dead. He chose not to interfere much, spending most of his time just watching over people. Watching over Steve, Bucky, and sometimes even Nick, going as far as to accompany him for whatever he happened to be doing that day (Nick always seemed to know when Phil was around, even if Phil never explicitly announced his presence).

The pair continued laughing as they fought, and eventually, Steve won (or Bucky let him win), holding up the remote with a triumphant grin.

“Mine!” Steve declared proudly, sticking his tongue out at Bucky.

Bucky simply grinned, eyes going soft, and he tugged Steve in for a quick kiss.

Steve acquiesced, and Phil snorted at that.

 _“Those two at it again?”_ Clint appeared from the side – freshly returned from a mission with Natasha from somewhere in Hong Kong.

_“Uh-huh.”_

_“They really are a bunch of idiots.”_

_“Yeah? Wait till you see what Steve keeps rotting away in his sock drawer,"_  Phil scoffed.

 _“Well wait till you see what Bucky keeps rotting away in his sock drawer,”_ Clint scoffed as well.

A pause, then both of them immediately jerked to look at each other.

_“Wait what?”_

_“You’re serious?”_

Both of them nodded, paused for another second, then simultaneously let out a long sigh.

_“Yeah, those two are fucking idiots.”_

_“Fucking idiots, that’s right.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! It truly means the world to me :) Hope you enjoyed reading about Phil and of course, Steve and Bucky as well. I always had Phil's backstory in mind when I wrote the first part to the necromancer AU and I thought it would be fun to actually write it all out and share it with you guys!


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